


Broken Crowns

by journeycat



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Song of the Lioness - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-07
Updated: 2011-07-07
Packaged: 2017-10-21 03:19:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/journeycat/pseuds/journeycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rispah worries over Coram as he reminisces about bygone days, when a little girl with bright copper curls chased her twin brother through the Trebond gardens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Crowns

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Fairy Tale / Nursery Rhyme Challenge over at Fief Goldenlake Forums. The nursery rhyme adapted is Jack and Jill. Second place winner in the 2009-10 Winter Ficship Competition at Fanfiction.net.

A night breeze whispered through the open window, carrying the scent of jasmine and old memories. Rispah instinctively snuggled up against the usual warm lump on the other side of the bed. Her hand felt around for a chest to wrap around and found only cool, empty sheets. She woke with a start. It was a habit leftover from those long-ago years attending the Court of the Rogue: when something was wrong, one must be on high alert.

“Coram?” she murmured drowsily, lifting her head and peering around the dark chambers.

The only sound was the gentle tap of a nearby shutter as another, stronger breeze swept through Trebond. The wind chimes tinkled in its wake. Normally, the sound was a merry little charm, but something about it this night was haunting.  _’Tis the sound o’ spirits_ , she thought with a shiver. She raised herself up on her elbows, her long hair—shot through with gray, now, when once it was so bright and lustrous—tumbling around her shoulders.

“Coram,” she called louder.

There was no reply.

Rispah swung her legs out of bed. Goosebumps prickled her flesh. She wasn’t sure if it was from the eerie feeling in the air or from the chill. She reached for the dressing gown, shrugging into it and tying the sash securely around her waist, hardly paying attention to what she was doing. Her ears were keen for any hint of Coram.

Her footsteps were quiet as she padded down the corridor. The children—

(“I’m not a child, Ma,” Daran protested, his face sullen, “and I’m old enough to go off and serve in the Own.”

“But you’re not old enough to die,” she whispered back fiercely.)

—were long since gone to bed, even little Buran, who was prone to late night wanderings. He was finally out of the crib and loved the freedom that a real bed allowed him. Thayine had been like that as well, but she had grown out of it. Sometimes she thought of having another, for she loved these beautiful babes she never thought she would have, but she was just too old and too tired. She had finally put her foot down with Coram, who loved babies well enough that he might have been willing to have one himself if the Goddess had granted him the woman’s gift.

 _Coram_ —

“Where are you?”

A storm was cooking somewhere nearby, for the wind was beginning to pick up in a low howl. The chimes were ringing shrilly in an accusation. Rispah clutched at her dressing gown nervously, and her eye suddenly lit on the door on the right, at the very end of the corridor. It led up to the tower and it was always locked against the little ones, but now it was ajar.

Why would he be up in the tower at such an ungodly hour? And he must have been up there for quite awhile, for his permanent indention in the mattress had been untouched by his heat. What if he was hurt?

Slowly, Rispah made her way up the winding stairs to Trebond’s single tower.

She hovered on the top step, one foot hesitantly set on the small landing. The door was wide open, banging intermittently against the stone wall whenever it caught the wind. This had been a watchtower, once, before the new one had been built and this one had been considered an unsteady hazard as time passed. The small round room was illuminated with muted shafts of moonlight that gleamed through the windows. Silhouetted against the starry sky, arms resting on the cobbled sill, was Coram, his countenance thrown in shadow.

Rispah took a few cautious steps into the tower room and paused. The air reeked of ale and mead, heavier now than any other time she had been in his company. She was frightened, and she didn’t know why—it was something about this winter storm, the tinkling chimes, her husband’s odd behavior.

“Ye should get back to bed,” a voice said tonelessly.

She nearly leapt out of her skin. She hadn’t known he had heard her creeping behind him, and he didn’t sound like himself at all. His voice was quiet and rough, slurred but somehow not truly inebriated.  _Impossible_ , she thought.  _I can smell the drink from here_.

“So should you,” she said simply. The quiver in her voice belied her nerves. “It’s so late. Why’re ye up?”

He didn’t reply, and she joined him at the window, yearning for his familiar warmth. Her breath blew out frosty puffs of air. She studied his profile, solemn and lonely, as it gazed out at the lands of Trebond. His gray hair was white in the ghostly light.  _Spirit light_ , she thought, and hugged herself.

“A little late to be surveyin’ yer kingdom, isn’t it?” she said through chattering teeth, meaning it as a joke.

But Coram turned his face toward her, and she drew back at its bleak sorrow. “Why would ye say that?” he asked, almost brokenly.

 _He’s been cryin_ ’, she realized.  _Oh, poor love, what’s wrong with him?_

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” she soothed, laying a concerned hand on his muscular arm. “Cor, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“Nothin’ that’s not been happened for nigh twenty years now,” he whispered.

Twenty years—it may not have been the exact date, but in a flood of understanding, Rispah knew that he grieved for those that died in that great, epic battle at King Jonathan’s coronation. It was a wound half-healed, a cut so deep it had yet to scar over completely.

“There was nothin’ you could’ve done,” she said gently. “Them that fell died a hero’s death, and Liam bravest of all.”

As soon as she said it, she knew it was somehow the wrong thing to say. Coram was looking for a salve for a different wound with which she was not familiar. He spoke often of Alanna’s younger days when her identity was disguised, and he spoke with naught but fond indulgence and burning pride. Rispah loved hearing about those bygone years (it never ceased to make her chuckle how Alanna’s temper always managed to get her into trouble, and her innocent face always seemed to get her out of it).

But the final battle was a topic he avoided, Duke Roger a monster with which to threaten their babes, and Liam a hero to be respected and quietly revered. She did not know these men as anything but a name or brief acquaintance and so she did not mind that some things he kept to himself.

But now—

“I can’t help ye if ya don’t let me,” she whispered, pressing cold fingers to his grizzled cheek.

He only turned his face away. “Ye wouldn’t care,” he said sadly. “No one cares about them that’s died less than perfect.”

That stung, and Rispah snapped her hand back. “If that’s all ye think of me, then why’d we marry? Why’d I bear yer sons and raise yer daughters, if not because I cared, ye damned fool?”

He just looked at her. He was an old man now, who’d gone through two masters before finally becoming his own. She wondered if he ever missed Alanna’s adventures.

The silence stretched out and was swallowed up by the keening wind. Crossly, she decided to go back to bed.  _Let him freeze up here ‘til he comes to his senses_ , she thought sourly.

“I know what they call him,” Coram finally said, surprising her. His profile was remote. “Necromancer, usurper’s lover, traitor. Maybe he raised that which ought to have stayed dead, and maybe his tastes ran different to mine, but  _traitor_ —”

He passed a shaking hand over his face. She stayed, torn between anger, compassion, and curiosity. The rain began to fall in torrents.

“They came into this world squallin’,” he continued softly. “’Twasn’t their fault that Lady Marinie died from that labor, but Lord Alan thought so. Didn’t pay them any mind growin’ up. Makes ye think, how would things have turned out differently if he had? Maybe we’d be payin’ our respects to King Roger and his whore, maybe Alanna would be married off to a man which keeps her in her place, and maybe that stupid boy with all his damned _pride_  would be alive.”

It was a name that passed lips often at Trebond; their son Thomsen was named for Alanna’s dead brother, and Rispah often called him Thom for short. Coram never did. He never spoke of Thom I, who would have gained Trebond if he hadn’t died.

“I thought it was so clear at the time. A baby for Maude, a baby for me. Alanna’d be raised a proper lady and learnin’ hearth-spells, and I’d turn Thom into a knight to make Trebond proud. I wouldn’t shirk my duty.”

His smile was grim. “From the moment they could walk, they did everything backwards. I’d catch that toddlin’ girl tryin’ to run off with my sword, and when I went to go find Thom he’d off and made himself at home with Maude. Never did anything right except that which they weren’t supposed to get right.”

He heaved a sigh so great she feared he would shatter. “Ye met Alanna, back when she was Alan. Fiery thing, weren’t she, with too much pride and a bad temper and the biggest heart I’d ever known. She was a good lass, and still is.

“But Thom—can’t say as I think you’d have liked him much. He was an arrogant little peacock, and never much cared who he hurt to get what he wanted. In his defense, though, he did love his sister more’n anyone else. I received a letter once a month from him threatenin’ to burn me to cinders if I let her get killed. He hated fightin’ and didn’t have the knack for it. Don’t know how much time I spent tryin’ to make him into what I thought a man should be.”

She read so much in his slumped shoulders and defeated words. Blame, shame, guilt. This burden he had carried for all these years was too heavy now. For him, Rispah would gladly share it. She gently entwined her fingers with his.

Coram went on, “If Alanna was told she couldn’t do somethin’, she did it to prove she could. But if Thom was told he couldn’t, he did it just for spite. They both had too much pride, but they used it differently. It’s why she made it and he—he didn’t.”

He went quiet. Rispah did not like this side of her rough, merry man with his silly songs and caring hands. There was too much old pain in there. It brought tears to her eyes to know he had kept this inside for so long, not to be shared with anyone...even her.

Lightening flickered across their faces.

“The twins weren’t more’n six or seven,” he began, “and Maude needed water for a spell, so she sent them off to the well for a bucket full. They whined at first—Alanna was never much for her magic, and Thom hated labor—but she thought it was an adventure and he wanted to see the spell, so they went. I had to escort them. I never did figure out if I was a man-at-arms or a nursemaid.”

He sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. “It was at the top of the hill and a hard walk, even for me, and I was in my prime. Weren’t too bad, though, with Thom sulkin’ and trudgin’ and Alanna stoppin’ to pick all the wildflowers and twigs along the way.

“She twined them together and said, ‘Look, Thom, I made you a crown. Now you can be king of the hill.’”

“And Thom’s eyes lit up, on account of there was nothin’ more he loved than bein’ in charge and bossin’ everyone about. He took it and put it on and said, ‘Now that I’m king, Coram has to do as I say. And I say, carry me up the hill!’”

Coram snorted. “Reckon Alanna damn near pissed herself giggling, she thought it was so funny. The lass was never mean-hearted, but she was a little girl, and all little girls love to play pretend. Thom said, ‘And you have to carry Alanna, too, because she’s my queen.’ I told them to grow into those britches before they thought to order me around.”

Rispah thought of Alanna, small and fierce, and smiled to think of how bossy she must have been, probably a bit like Elenna. And Thom? She pictured Page Alan with his pert mouth, but made him sullen. It was an odd image.

“Alanna tired of it quick, especially when Thom expected her to carry the pail all by herself. Not her fault, for all her temper; I suppose even the gentlest girl would get fed up with her brother mockin’ her and tellin’ her to do carry the bucket, because she was his queen and queens are  _supposed_  to obey their king. I didn’t pay them any mind, just took the pail and started down the hill to shut them both up. In hindsight, that was a right stupid thing to do. I knew better than to turn my back to those demons.”

“What happened?”

“Silly girl pushed Thom right down the hill. Never heard a tomcat scream as loud as that boy did. He somersaulted right past me. I think half my head turned gray. Alanna already regretted it, I’ll tell you that, and she was runnin’ down after him shriekin’ his name—and damned if she didn’t trip and fall down after him.”

“Goddess, were they hurt? I can’t believe neither of them were killed.”

“Thom broke an arm and sprained an ankle, but what scared me the most was that he opened his head wide open. Blood all over his face and he was white as a pastry. Didn’t think Maude could patch him up. Alanna bruised a collarbone, but ’twasn’t serious.

“But you know what upset Thom the most? He was shakin’ and bawlin’ and bleedin’, and he said, ‘I broke my crown.’ I thought he meant his head and I told him, ‘You’re lucky your skull’s all that got busted.’ And he said, ‘No, Coram, my crown, the one Alanna made me—it’s all broken and crushed.’”

Coram shook his head, perplexed. “That boy could barely tolerate a toothache, and there he was worryin’ over some ugly thing of weeds instead of moanin’ over his wounds. And Alanna, that girl, she said, “It’s okay, Thom. I’ll make you another one as soon as I get better.’ Didn’t even have to say sorry. They were twins, and some things were just understood.”

He turned to Rispah. His eyes searched hers for clues to an age-old puzzle.

“Rispah, would ye believe me if I told ye Alanna never could find more of them weeds to make a crown for Thom? They stopped growin’, up ’round the hill and everywhere else at Trebond. Once we had wildflowers aplenty, but not anymore. Puzzled the rocks off the gardeners, though I didn’t think much on it at the time.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m sayin’ the gods are cruel, Rispah, and they got the meanest sense of humor. I think Thom was marked from day one, as sure as Alanna was. ’Twasn’t just poor luck or bad judgment or misguided pride. The gods never intended to let him live. He was as cursed as she was blessed.”

Rispah shook her head. “The gods ain't cruel, Coram. They Choose who they will to serve them, but they don't Choose who they will to die.”

“Perhaps,” he relented, but he did not sound convinced.

She wrapped her arms around him, feeling him shudder against her breast and belly. “It’s okay, love o’ mine,” she whispered. “If Thom didn’t have a choice in his dyin’, well, then, I’d say he did his damned best in his livin’.”

Coram tucked her head under his chin in the way she liked. “Ah, lady,” he sighed. “What would I do without ye?”

She kissed his jaw. “Come back to bed. Ye need rest. You’ve too much to drink, and it’s brought back memories which hurt ye.”

Like a child, she led him back down the stairs—and shut the tower door firmly behind her.  _No more of this_ , she thought.  _I’ll find a smith and get him to make a new lock and key_. Spilling that close-kept memory exhausted him, it seemed, for he was swaying on his feet as she undressed him. He fell into bed with his shoes on and she breathed a sigh of relief to hear his snores a scant handful of seconds afterwards. Still, her sleep that night was disturbed.

Her dreams featured a little girl who squealed as she chased her brother through the Trebond gardens, wildflowers in her bright copper curls, and the boy only giggled as he kept one step ahead of her, the crown of weeds on his head more precious to him than anything made of gold and rubies...

For the rest of her life, Rispah never went into the abandoned tower again. Just passing by the door was unsettling, when her nervous ears caught an echo of a child’s giggle and she slept fitfully, if at all, when it stormed outside. At night, the wind chimes were always stirred by the restless hands of violet spirits.

Wildflowers never did bloom again in Trebond.


End file.
